


be patient

by zhuzhubi



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: BDSM, Chastity Device, Cock Cages, Cock Warming, Collars, Dom/sub, Edging, F/M, Femdom, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Mistress, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Smut, Sub Spencer Reid, Vibrators, brat taming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi
Summary: spencer’s being a very naughty boy...(or, sub!spencer is a brat and mistress!reader won’t let him come)
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 150





	1. day 0

**Author's Note:**

> also on tumblr @zhuzhubii :)

As soon as Spencer gets home from work, you can tell he’s gotten himself into quite a mood. His lips are pinched and he refuses to greet you, though he’s clearly aware of your presence. 

He immediately drops his satchel onto the floor and storms off into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. A discontented growl builds in your chest almost against your will as you follow after him - he knows the rules, and slamming doors and ignoring his Mistress definitely aren’t allowed. **  
**

You throw open the door and discover that he’s tucked himself into bed, leaving his work clothes in a heap on the floor by his nightstand - you feel a thrum of annoyance flood through you at the sight. He’s being so _very_ disobedient and whatever happened at work today is no excuse - you can’t let him think he can get away with breaking the rules so overtly. You stomp over to the bed, making your anger very clear, and pull the comforter off of him in one swift motion, smirking when he whines at the lack of warmth. 

“Get up,” you order, voice stern and unwavering. 

“I don’t wanna,” he mutters, his face buried in a pillow that muffles his voice. You almost can’t believe what you’re hearing - he hasn’t been this defiant in a very long time.

You decide to give him one more chance despite how bratty he’s being, so you ask, “What was that?” your tone of voice making it clear that you heard him the first time.

He untucks his face from the pillow and glares up at you, repeating, “I don’t wanna,” with a little disobedient smirk - he’s definitely doing this just to egg you on, and it’s _definitely_ working.

You grab him by the wrist and yank him to his feet, gesturing down at the heap of dirty clothes and spitting out, “Clean up your mess.”

His eyes flash with something that’s either defiance or arousal, and he spits back, “No,” crossing his arms and unfurling to his full height. 

You narrow your eyes and get right up in his face, “I’m gonna ask you one more time - clean up your mess, brat.”

“Bite me,” he replies, leaning in and letting his damp breath ghost across your cheeks. 

He obviously expects - and desires - an angry response from you, so you project disappointment and eerie calm instead, just to keep him on his toes. You speak with a chillingly even tone as you order, “Go stand against the wall,” not even bothering to gesture over to where you want him because he already knows _exactly_ what you mean. 

He wilts a little under the lack of overt anger and obeys without thinking, slinking past you to assume the position - he leans back against the wall with his hands tucked behind his butt, his gaze fixed down on the floor as he (im)patiently awaits further instruction. 

You decide he needs to wait a little so you stare him down from across the room for a few minutes, smirking when he starts to squirm and sneak glances at you, a tell-tale bulge forming in his underwear as he anticipates his punishment. 

You stalk over to him purposefully slow, crossing your arms and maintaining a cool air of disappointment. You reach out to grasp his face in your palm and ask him, “What the fuck was that, Spencer?”

He whimpers and fidgets in the face of your calm vitriol, finally managing to squeak out, “I’m sorry Miss, I should’ve listened to you.”

“Sorry’s not good enough, brat,” you reply, grinning to yourself when his pupils dilate at the word ‘brat,’ further betraying his already obvious arousal, “Now, if you wanna come sometime this week, you’re gonna do _exactly_ what I say. Got it?”

“Yes Miss,” he replies as he licks his lips in anticipation, the outline of his cock in his underwear becoming ever more apparent.

He obviously thinks you’re going to let him finish tonight - you have zero intentions of doing so, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that just yet. He’ll let himself get even more worked up if he thinks he’s getting an orgasm, and that’ll make it all the more satisfying for you when you deny him.

You trail a finger down his chest - still covered by his undershirt - and decide you want it gone. “Strip,” you order and he obeys immediately, scrambling to bare himself to you. This time you don’t care that he lets his clothing drop to the floor - you’re enjoying his naked form a little too much to pay the mess any mind, even more so because you’re still fully clothed. 

You close a hand around his cock - now deliciously hard and curving up towards his belly in a slight arc - and give it a stroke without warning, smirking when he gasps and bucks into your fist. You thumb at the pre-cum beading out of him and drag it from tip to base as you order, “Go get yourself ready,” palming over him a few more times before pulling away completely, soaking in his whine at the sudden lack of stimulation.

You give him a pointed look when he doesn’t move, instead looking up at you with _please keep touching me, Mistress_ written all over his face. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a brat just a minute ago you’d relent, but as it stands he doesn’t deserve your mercy just yet. “Go,” you repeat, coking your head toward the bedside table and staring him down until he finally obeys, padding over and removing a bottle of lube from within and pouring some over himself. 

He looks over at you for approval, only moving to spread it around once he sees your curt nod. He tentatively reaches down to stroke over himself, his eyes fluttering closed and jaw dropping at the sensation. You let him get himself close before stalking over and barking out, “Stop.”

He lets out a little, “Please, Miss…,” looking at you through hooded eyes, stilling his hand but failing to let go like he knows he’s supposed to. 

You raise your eyebrows and glance down at his hand, his long fingers still wrapped around his cock, clearing your throat and crossing your arms. He whines and drops it, his hands clenching at his sides as he fights the urge to touch himself the way you know he wants to.

“Good boy,” you say in a mocking voice - he’s being _very naughty_ and doesn’t deserve genuine praise right now.

You lead him back over to the wall, nudging his chest so he leans back on it once again and maneuvering his palms so that they lay flat against the wallpaper. You don’t bother to tell him not to touch - he knows the rules, and he knows to follow them even if you don’t explicitly tell him to. 

You tease a finger over his cheek, grinning at the way he leans into you a little bit, pupils blown wide with arousal. You let your finger trail ever so slowly all the way down his chest and to the tip of his cock, circling lazily over the head as you say, “Are you gonna be a good boy and hold it for me?”

He frantically nods his head, his gaze flickering between your face and his cock as you continue to tease him. You wrap a hand around him and let the other palm over the head, smirking when he gasps and spreads his legs, trembling a little as he tries to stop himself from bucking his hips - he knows it’ll only result in you letting go.

You keep going, flicking your wrist and thumbing over the tip in the ways you know he likes, until he’s throwing back his head and whimpering as he tries to hold back his orgasm. Just as he’s starting to pant and you notice his belly start to tense, you draw back completely, leaving him muttering “No no no!” under his breath, unable to stop his hips from twitching forward, searching for stimulation but finding only empty air. 

You slink back over to the bedside table, drawing out a vibrator you like to use on yourself when he’s away for work and bringing it back over to him. His eyes track your every movement and he pushes his hips out _just slightly_ to make his erection all the more apparent (as if it wasn’t already) to try and entice you to resume pleasuring him. You have every intention of doing just that, except you wouldn’t call it _pleasuring him_ exactly - _frustrating him_ is a more accurate term.

You turn the vibrator on to the lowest setting and drag it against his lips, relishing in the way he just stands there and lets you - even when he’s being bratty and defiant, he trusts you completely. You drag it down to his cock and draw patterns over his length, focusing on the head because you know that’s his favorite. You turn up the setting once he starts to get too comfortable and his eyes flutter closed again in response, his breath coming in gasps and his nails dragging up the wall.

You keep him right at the precipice, drawing back every time he’s _almost there_ and resuming as soon as he’s calmed down _just barely_ enough. Each time he tolerates the vibrations for a shorter and shorter period of time before his orgasm starts building - he can’t hold back his whimpers and keens at all. His eyes are glazed over with pleasure and desperation every time he drags them open, and it’s perfectly delectable. 

By the time you reach ten, he’s pleading between breaths, “Please, Miss, please please please, I’ll be good I’ll be good, I promise,” half delirious with desire. You smirk and keep going until fifteen, drinking in his neediness, before switching the vibrator off and calmly walking away, leaving him begging and practically clawing at the wall behind him.

You soak in the chorus of his “Please Miss! I’m a good boy, come back come back!” and pull a set of his house clothes from the dresser. He’s so out of it that he doesn’t notice until you press them into his chest, cocking your head and looking pointedly between him and the fresh clothing. The shock is evident on his face and he whimpers as you guide his hands up to hold them, instinctively grasping the fabric as soon as his palms make contact.

“Get dressed,” you order once it becomes clear that he’s too shocked to move without prompting. After a moment, he comes back to himself just enough to pull on his shirt and step into his sweatpants. He pauses with them pulled up to his thighs, obviously still hopeful that you’re not serious - it’s endearing but you’re still a little mad about him being so defiant earlier so you growl and reach down to pull them up yourself, much less careful about his aching cock than he would have been if he’d done it himself. 

He whimpers at the sensation, so worked up that even the soft fabric is bordering on too much. Once he’s dressed, you beckon him to follow you back out into the living room. He trails behind you like a lost puppy, the loose fabric of his pants doing almost nothing to conceal his erection, the crotch growing damp from the combination of pre-cum and leftover lube. 

You settle yourself on the couch before patting the cushion next to you, an obvious invitation for him to follow. He nestles into your side, legs spread and bulge obvious, and you reach over to stroke over his fluffy hair, smiling at how pliant and needy he is. 

You reach over him for the television remote and switch it on to whatever disc happens to be in the DVD player - somewhere in the middle of _Star Trek: Into Darkness_ , as it happens - then rest a hand on his crotch once the movie is playing. He’s given up trying to keep still and is a squirming mess next to you, pressing his bulge into your palm, silently begging for your attention. 

You are, in fact, paying attention to every little whine and shift of the hips he makes, but you keep your gaze fixed on the TV screen, playing at ignoring him. The only indication you give him that you’re aware of his presence (and his need) is the slight smirk you can’t quite suppress, and the light stroke you give him every so often over his pants - just enough to keep him hard, but not nearly enough to get him off. 

His breath hitches once the credits start to roll, thinking you’re about to _finally_ give him what he wants, but you keep your eyes fixed forward until the DVD pops out, listening to him whine and feeling him buck up into your palm. You delicately move your hand from his crotch to his thigh, grinning to yourself at his upset keen, before turning back to him and ordering, “Go get ready for dinner.”

His brow furrows in irritation and confusion and he stutters out, “B-but Miss, I - “

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” you interrupt, standing and dragging him to his feet, giving him a nudge back towards the bedroom, “Take a shower and clean up your mess - don’t think I’ve forgotten about that. And don’t you _dare_ jerk yourself off - naughty little boys don’t deserve to come, and you’ve been _very_ naughty today.”

He nods and pads away, disappearing into the bedroom. Once you hear the shower start running, you head to the kitchen and start preparing dinner, getting lost in the repetitive motion of cutting vegetables. So lost, in fact, that you don’t notice that Spencer still hasn’t reappeared until you’re almost finished cooking.

You squint your eyes in confusion for a moment - he’s not usually one for especially long showers - before realizing _exactly_ what’s taking him so long and storming through the apartment to the bathroom.

You throw open the door and immediately see him - he’s not even in the shower, although the water is still running. It takes him a moment to notice you, but once he does he gasps and stops mid stroke, shrinking under your harsh glare. You growl, “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

He doesn’t have a good answer for that - it’s blatantly obvious what he was doing, and even more so that he was defying a direct command - but he tries to sputter out a reply anyway, “I-I was, I was just - “

“Stop talking,” you interrupt, glaring down at him as he slides to the floor in the face of your anger, “You’ve been a very, _very_ bad boy today, Spencer. And I am very, _very_ disappointed in you.”

“I’m sorry - I didn’t mean it! I’ll be good next time, I promise!” he tries to placate you, but it isn’t enough.

“I thought I told you to stop talking,” you repeat, voice cold and hard, “I think _someone_ needs to be punished so that he learns his lesson.”

Spencer gulps and sucks in a nervous breath, though the flush on his face and the dilation of his pupils betrays his excitement, remaining quietly seated on the floor as you stalk off and return with a little plastic thing he both hates and loves. He whimpers as soon as he sees it, kneading his hands together as you stare him down - he knows just how mad he’s made you.

You toss it between your hands, smirking as you muse, “How long do you think I should keep you locked up this time? Five days? A week? Longer?”

He shifts where he sits, pleading, “Please Mistress - “

You cut him off, chastising, “If you’re gonna act like a brat, I’m gonna treat you like a brat, Spencer. You know that.”

“Yes Miss,” he mutters, voice so small and soft you can barely hear it. 

You stand over him and wait for him to soften - due entirely to lack of stimulation - before bending down and locking him in the cock cage, making a show of turning the key and tucking it away in your back pocket - you’ll hide it better later, but it’s not necessary right now. He whimpers as he looks down at the plastic clasped around him, sized perfectly only when he’s soft.

You reach over to stroke his cheek and say, “I think ten days should be enough for you to learn your lesson this time.”

He leans forward and buries his face into your chest, groaning at the idea of spending so long in the cage when he’s _already_ so worked up. You rub circles into his back and ask, “Is that okay, Spencer?” because you don’t _actually_ want to force him to do anything, no matter how much your Mistress act likes ordering him around.

His fluffy hair tickles your neck as he nods into you, pulling back a little and muttering, “Yeah that’s okay, (y/n),” before going back to burying his face because he knows you need to hear it. 

You kiss the crown of his head and say, “Okay,” letting him nestle into you for a little longer before heaving the both of you to your feet and continuing, “Dinner’s almost ready - how about you finish getting ready, for real this time, and come out when you’re ready?”

“Sounds good,” he replies, already moving over to actually shower this time. You watch him for a second before heading back to the kitchen to finish cooking - after all, you get to play with him _plenty_ over the next ten days.


	2. day 1

In the morning Spencer almost forgets about the cage - he grumbles when his alarm goes off and rolls over to give you a quick kiss before stumbling blearily toward the bathroom. You smirk to yourself - you can practically see the little pout you know he makes as soon as he pulls down his sleeping pants and sees the hard plastic wrapped around his soft cock. 

When he returns he climbs back into bed and nestles into your side, looking up at you with pleading eyes as if playing ‘good boy’ will make you forget about just how naughty he was last night. You stroke over his fluffy hair a few times and he soaks in your affection, nuzzling deeper into your chest and letting out a pleased hum. 

You wish you had time to play with him right this moment, but you don’t. You can’t in good conscience let him get too deep into subspace when you both have to leave for work in less than an hour so you nudge him off of you and stand, leading him over to the dresser in an obvious message to get dressed.

He whines and pouts even more, leaning his head on your shoulder and looking up at you with pleading brown eyes - it almost makes you want to call in sick and just stay here with him all day, tending to his neediness and letting him please you (though, of course, you have no intentions of letting him out of the cage before the ten days are up). 

You give him a kiss on the forehead instead, rifling through the dresser to pick out his most comfortable work clothes - a soft cardigan and slacks that are on the looser side - and hand them to him gently, a stark contrast to the way you practically shoves his clothes into his hands when he was being disobedient last night. 

He relents, huffing a little and grumbling to himself as he changes his shirt - _ah, there’s my little brat_ \- and zips up his pants. The lumpiness from the cage is just barely visible - you can tell it’s there, thought only because you know what you’re looking for - and Spencer frowns a bit when he looks down at himself.

You furrow your brow because you’ve done this with him before (though never for more than a few days) so he should know what to expect, and he’s never seemed worried or upset in the past. You don’t want him to do anything he’s uncomfortable with, so you ask just to double-check, “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I’ll take it right off if you’ve changed your mind.”

He’s quick to nod, looking up at you and blushing a little. “It’s just that…,” he replies, “I-I’ve never worn it for so long and I’m worried you’ll be able to see it if I run out of looser pants…”

You chuckle a little before you can stop yourself, reaching out to thumb over his cheeks as a smile pulls at your lips, “We can just do an extra load of laundry so you don’t run out, my silly boy.”

His face flushes with mild embarrassment and he hides his face in your neck, his cheeks hot against your skin. “Oh yeah,” he replies and it’s obvious it hadn’t crossed his mind - he may be a genius, but he’s also a total dummy and you love that about him.

He hasn’t yet put on his tie, so you reach behind him into the dresser and pick one out - a cute dark blue one with physics equations on it - and tuck it under his collar, tying it with practiced ease. Just as you’re finishing up, you lean in and whisper, “I’m gonna have _so much fun_ with you over the next ten days,” with a smirk.

He gasps, his pupils dilating at your declaration, then whimpers a little and fists his hands into the fabric of his pants - you know it’s because the cage is forcing him to stay soft, to keep accepting his punishment like a good boy, and you can’t help but to lick your lips. You continue, “Are you gonna be good for me, make up for being such a bratty, naughty boy yesterday?”

His hair bounces a little as he nods frantically, “Yes Mistress, I’m so sor -”

You hold up a hand to cut off his apology and he stops immediately, waiting eagerly for your next instruction. “Don’t apologize,” you order, “just show me you can be better.”

“Yes, yes Miss! I will, I will,” he replies.

“Good boy,” you praise and he melts, eating up your words just like he always does, “Now go make yourself something to eat, okay?”

He scurries off to the kitchen and you follow, though much more slowly. You grin to yourself as you anticipate all the things you have in store for him (and yourself).

…

The work day drags by even more than you thought it would, the soft ticking of your analog clock a stark reminder of what you can’t have just yet - at lunch you move the key from its hiding spot in your bag to your back pocket, just so you can feel it as you work. The knowledge that your sub’s pretty little cock is locked up and only you have the power to free him is deliciously arousing - you find yourself shifting in your seat as wetness collects in your underwear, grateful that your arousal is easily hidden. 

You’re barely able to resist requesting a picture from Spencer - you have plans for that later in the week, and it just won’t do to spoil them already. The clock eventually ticks past five and you calmly pack up your things, practiced at concealing your own eagerness so as to tease Spencer all that much more.

When you finally make it home Spencer still isn’t due to arrive for almost another hour, so you have some time to prepare - you gather one of your favorite things from it’s hiding place and display it on the coffee table, then settle yourself on the couch with a book while you wait. 

When Spencer finally walks in the door he’s careful to hang up his satchel like he knows he’s supposed to. He pads over to you and gasps when he sees the thing on the table, collecting himself immediately after and softly greeting you, “Mistress I’m home. Did you have a good day at work?”

You smile and beckon him to come sit with you, stroking a hand down his back when he immediately curls into your side and leans his head on your shoulder once again. Your lips ghost over the crown of his head as you reply, “Welcome home, sweetpea. I was thinking about you all day, so I’d say it was pretty good. How about you?”

His tiny, “Me too,” is muffled by your shirt and you let him just enjoy being cuddled for a second before nudging him a little and directing his attention back to the things on the table. He looks over them and blushes, squirming in his seat as he anticipates pleasing you. You let him squirm for a moment, then reach over and close your hand around a leather collar, unbuckling it and dangling it in front of Spencer’s eyes and watching his pupils grow wide with arousal.

You grin and order, “You’re going to wear this every time we play for the next ten days so you can learn who your Mistress is and whose orders you listen to, got it?”

He nods, licking his lips as he focuses on the collar. The shiny metal name tag glints in the light and you know Spencer is thinking about what it says - _(y/n)’s little brat_. He only has to wear the collar when he’s being punished for being naughty and he knows it. 

It quickly becomes clear that a nod is all he intends to give you and that just won’t do - you grab his face in one of your hands and make him look at you, growling out, “Answer me when I ask you a question, brat. Now I’m gonna ask you again - you’re gonna wear your collar when we play, got it?”

He sucks in a breath and stutters out, “Y-yes Miss, I understand,” and you relent - you can’t blame him too much for getting distracted.

You release his face and continue, more gently this time, “Be a good boy and put your collar on for me.”

He listens immediately, the defiance from yesterday gone (for the time being, at least), and wraps the collar around his neck, buckling it with an adorable blush and folding his hands in his lap when he’s done. 

“Now undress,” you order, resettling yourself against the back of the couch. He doesn’t hesitate, just starts tugging off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, folding them neatly and placing them on the coffee table. He blush deepens when he pulls down his underwear, exposing his bound cock. He starts to move his hands to cover himself before you stop him, “Ah ah ah, none of that. I wanna see you.”

He immediately moves his hands to his sides, showing off his cock and the plastic contraption keeping it from growing hard. You beckon him closer and smooth your hands over the inside of his thighs, trailing _up up up_ to his cock and teasing his tip through the plastic. He whimpers at the sensation, his cock trying desperately to respond but finding itself unable. 

But today is only day one and you don’t want to tease him too much just yet, so you pull him down by the waist to kneel on the floor in front of you. He rests his head on your thigh and looks up at you with eager eyes, ready to please you even though he knows won’t get anything in return just yet. 

You decide to enjoy him just like this for a while - naked except for the cage and kneeling pliant before you - so you tangle a hand in his hair and go back to your book with the other, smiling when he lets out a contented hum at feeling your fingers against his scalp. You stay like that for a few chapters, lazily stroking through his hair as he practically melts into your lap, occasionally reading a sentence or two out loud and grinning when you feel him smile against your thigh. 

Once he starts to get restless - squirming where he sits and letting out little mews and whimpers every once in a while - you relent. You close your book and set it aside, refocusing your attention solely on Spencer as he looks up at you expectantly. You bring up your other hand to cup the back of his head, shifting your legs apart and tugging him toward you a little, looking down at him pointedly. 

He gets the idea and starts moving to unzip your pants with his hands, but you stop him, “When did I say you could use your hands, brat?”

He furrows his brow in confusion, peering up at you as he replies, “How else am I supposed too…?” but then his eyes light up in understanding and you grin - _smart boy_. He leans forward to kiss your fly, closing his teeth around the tab and dragging the zip open teasingly slow. You lift your hips when he gets to your pants and underwear, but let him struggle through pulling them off with only his mouth, relishing in his mild groans of frustration. 

When he’s finally done he presses his lips to your navel, the cold metal of his collar sending excitement shuddering through you, and trails kisses down to your core, teasingly avoiding the place where you want him most. You let him tease for a minute, but then stretch your legs apart and buck forward, growling out, “Give me what I want, brat.”

His breath shudders against you and he whimpers, spreading his own legs despite the aching futility of the action. He ducks his head down to lap at your entrance, dragging the pooling wetness up toward your clit and drawing circles around it, his eyes flashing when you throw your head back and gasp - he knows exactly what you like and exactly how to give it to you.

He moans against you, the low vibration sending thrums of pleasure radiating outward, and you begin to feel that delicious tension building. You buck your hips against his mouth as you chase the sensation, drinking in his little gasps and whines - so perfectly eager to please his Mistress. He peers up at you through hooded eyes, sucking at your clit with hollowed cheeks, and it sends you over the edge. Your orgasm shudders through you as he keeps up his laps and circles of the tongue, so happy with himself for bringing pleasure to his Mistress. 

When you’re finished he stills his movements, but leaves his tongue resting against you, his soft breaths puffing against your hot skin. You brush his hair out of his face and grant him his well-deserved praise, “Good boy, Spencer, you’re _such_ a good boy for me,” and he absolutely beams against you.

You pull him back up to the couch, guiding him to curl into your once again. You rest your cheek against his head and stroke over his soft, naked form, whispering praises as he waits for his own arousal to abate. 

Nine more days to go.


	3. day 2

You startle awake to a dull _thud!_ from the other room and jolt upright in bed. For a second you’re afraid someone’s broken in, but then you turn to look at Spencer and notice he’s suspiciously missing from the bed beside you - you have a nagging feeling that you know _exactly_ what he’s doing and it sends a thrum of rage surging through you. 

You toss the covers off of yourself and storm out to the living room, making sure your footsteps are as loud and angry as possible so he knows _exactly_ what’s in store for him. He looks up at you like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide and limbs frozen, a smile borne of nervousness pulling at his lips. Strewn across the floor are the contents of your bag, obviously dumped in his frustration, and in Spencer’s hands is the now-empty bag itself - held upside down from when he overturned it in his fruitless search to escape his punishment.

He absolutely wilts under your gaze, gripping the bag tight and worrying at his lower lip, suddenly meek in the face of blatantly disobeying his Mistress. You stalk over to him and thumb over his cheek, smirking when he shudders a little at your touch and sucks in a nervous breath. You snatch the bag from his hands and he whimpers, mumbling out a tiny, “Please Mistress, please.”

“It hasn’t even been _two days_ and you’re already so desperate,” you scoff, leaning in to lick his jawline, nipping at it a little and drinking in the whine he can’t quite hold back, “Such a needy little brat, aren’t you. Need your Mistress to take care of you.”

“Yes Miss,” he breathes out, voice scarcely above a whisper, “I need you, Miss. I need t-to -”

He grinds his crotch against you and you reach a hand down to cup him through his sleeping pants, trailing your thumb over the outline of plastic encasing his cock and keeping it from growing to its full length. “You want me to take this off, baby boy?” you continue, voice mockingly sweet, “Give your pretty little cock some attention?”

“Mmhm,” he hums in response, pupils blown so wide you know it’s the best response he could muster, bucking into your palm and whimpering when he feels his cock straining against the cage instead of the sweet friction his body craves.

You grin and reply, “Okay,” and he jolts to full attention, just as surprised by the answer as you knew he would be.

“Okay?” he questions, an adorable crease forming between his brows, “R-really?”

You give him a soft kiss on the cheek in response, then walk back over to the bedroom - or course you didn’t leave the key in your bag while you’re home, that’s way too obvious. He trails after you just like you knew he would, still in disbelief that you’re actually uncaging him. “Strip,” you order as you rifle through your sock drawer - separate from his because he keeps his socks unpaired - and you hear his clothing drop to the floor behind you. 

You dig the key out from inside one of your socks and turn back around, dangling it in front of his face and relishing in the way he can’t take his eyes off of it, knowing relief is so close yet so far away. You drag it across his lips and draw patterns on his cheeks, drinking in the hitches in his breath and the way his hips buck forward involuntarily. You let it trail ever-so-slowly down his chest, circling it around his nipples and over his navel, taunting him with the prospect of what he wants so badly.

When you finally wrap a hand around the plastic cage and use the other to and insert and turn the key, gently wiggling the cage off so as not to hurt him, he gasps and looks down at himself - his cock becomes fully hard with only one soft stroke of your palm and curves deliciously up towards his belly, the head achingly red and pre-cum already beading out from the tip. 

You drag the nail of your pointer finger up and down the side and he whimpers, practically trembling from the strength of his arousal. You guide him to sit down on the bed and stretch his legs apart as far as they’ll go, thumbing over the head of his cock as he pushes his hips forward to meet your hand. “You want me to touch you, baby boy?” you ask, smirking to yourself because you know he’ll say yes.

His answer is to frantically nod his fluffy head, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed red with desire. You step away from him for a moment and he whines, leaning forward to chase you but remaining seated like he knows he’s supposed to. 

You reach into the bedside table and pull out lube, flicking open the top and turning the bottle upside down, holding it a few inches above his cock and letting the clear liquid dribble out onto him. He starts to reach up a hand to spread it around, but you stop him. You growl out “Leave it” and snatch his wrist, pushing it back down to his side and stepping away again, gazing down on him as the lube drips in trails over his cock. 

He fists his hands into the comforter and mews as he tries to obey, squirming beautiful under your gaze, his cock twitching as he imagines what’s coming next. You strip off your own clothing, making a show of it as he looks on, gasping at the mere sight of his Mistress’ naked form. You take the time to fold your night clothes, swaying your hips when you bend down to collect them and soaking in his needy whimpers. When you’re finally satisfied that he’s waited long enough, you stalk back over to him and tease a finger down his chest, leaning in to kiss his neck and bite his ear. 

You brace your hands against his shoulders and straddle his lap, his cock hot and heavy between your two bellies, spreading lube and pre-cum over your skin. You slip a hand down to stroke over the underside, cupping his balls and smirking at how swollen they are in your palm. He writhes beneath you and bucks his hips, letting out a low moan when it finally rewards him the pleasurable sensation he’s so desperate for. 

You wrap your hand around his cock, picking up a steady rhythm and flicking your wrist on the upstroke, teasing over the head every so often and grinning when his hips buck under yours, his body chasing release and doing everything it can to help him get there. Just as his belly starts to tense and his heady pants grow erratic, you stop and clamp your hand around the base of his cock, using your other to push his hips down when he tries to thrust upwards. 

“Nonono, please Miss! Please, let me cum, please Miss, I need it!” he begs, straining against your hand and trying to entice you to relent, to let him escape his punishment early.

“Did you really think I would let you finish, brat? After you went behind my back and dumped out all my things searching for the key? Trying to get out of your punishment?” you hiss, already starting to stand and walk away, heading toward the bathroom to clean yourself off. 

When you come back he’s still sitting there in shock, legs spread wide and cock achingly hard, still glistening with lube and arousal. He starts up with the, “Please please please, Miss - I’m a good boy, I’m a good boy!” as soon as he catches sight of you, his hands curled on his thighs and inching towards his crotch as if moving slowly will make his movements invisible under your watchful gaze. 

It doesn’t, of course, and you have no intention of giving in - if anything, today has proved to you just how deserving he is of his punishment, not made you more inclined to relent. You drop a wet cloth on his lap, an obvious order for him to clean himself off, and watch it slide down his length, the flushed head poking out as Spencer remains frozen in shock. 

You raise an eyebrow and gesture towards it pointedly, “Well? Clean yourself up, brat.”

“B-but…,” he stutters out, glancing between you and his erection, blatantly pleading to be touched, to be allowed to reach his release.

You scowl down at him and he wilts, a soft keen escaping his lips. Still, he doesn’t move so you continue, “I’m assuming you want to be clean when the cage goes back on, so I suggest you get to it,” crossing your arms and staring him down.

He whimpers and obeys, gasping as the damp fabric brushes over his arousal. Soon enough, his motions start to become more focused, less about cleaning up and more about the feeling of the fabric against his cock. He picks up a rhythm, moving steadily up and down with his wrist, and lets his eyes flutter shut as he pleasures himself. You weren’t planning on teasing him twice today, but if he wants to do it to himself? Well. Either way, you have no intention of letting him finish, and it’s lovely watching him pant under your gaze, so desperate to cum that he’s bucking into a washcloth as if it’s the wet heat of your core.

You wait until he gets himself close once again, bucking frantically into the cloth and letting out low moans as it drags over his arousal. It doesn’t take long at all, and it makes you grin - the thought of how desperate and needy he’ll be in a little over a week when it’s finally time to free him for real, that is. Just before he reaches the precipice, you tear the cloth from his hand. He doesn’t even bother to argue this time, just ducks his head in shame and mutters, “I’m sorry, Mistress, I shouldn’t have done that.”

It’s so pitiful you can’t help but to comfort him, at least a little. You sit down beside him and pull him into you, running your fingers through his hair and whispering, “It’s okay, baby boy, I know you didn’t mean to be so naughty.”

You stay there just like that until his erection finally starts to subside and he lets out a soft sigh of relief, though not exactly the kind he was hoping for. He’s so out of it he almost doesn’t notice when you start to slide the cage back on. He whimpers when he feels the cool plastic, looking down at himself and seeing it encasing his now-soft cock, watching as you turn the key once again and lock him inside. 

You stroke over his thighs and tilt your head, asking, “You’re not going to be so naughty again, are you? Because I won’t be so nice the next time I catch you trying to escape your punishment, brat.”

His answer is immediate, “No, Mistress, I won’t I won’t. I’m a good boy, I promise.”

You feel a smile pulling at your lips at his words and you let him curl into your side - the way he always does when he’s craving affection. You lean in to kiss him on the forehead, letting your lips linger as you mutter, “Of course you are, sweetpea, of course you are.”

Eight days left.


	4. day 3

You let Spencer sleep in on Saturday, watching the soft morning light glint across his face and tracing lightly over his cheeks and through his hair. When he finally stirs, blinking open sleep-bleary eyes, he almost immediately nuzzles into your hand and lets his lips settle into a contented grin, a soft hum rumbling in his chest as he soaks in your affection. 

“Good morning, sweetpea,” you murmur as he scoots closer under the sheets, wrapping his long arms around you and mumbling back, “Good morning, Mistress.”

You can tell he’s going to be so good and sweet and docile for you today and it makes you smile - as much as you love punishing him for being a brat, you love praising him when he’s being a little angel. You pull him in for a soft kiss and whisper, “I’m gonna have so much fun with you today, my sweet boy.”

His pupils dilate and he sucks in a breath in anticipation, pressing his crotch into your thigh - you can’t help but smirk when you feel hard plastic instead of morning wood. You reach over and brush a hand over his cheek, trailing down to his neck and circling over his Adam’s apple - his muscles contract under your palm as he swallows and the sensation makes you all the more eager for what you have in store. 

“Do you want to have a bath or a shower, sweetheart?” you ask, though you already know what he’ll choose.

“A bath please, Mistress,” he replies just as predicted, hiding his face in your neck the way he tends to when he’s being sweet and needy.

You press your lips to his forehead and help him out of bed, chuckling when he whines at the loss of the comforter’s warmth. You lead him into the bathroom and sit him down on the edge of the tub as you wait for it to fill. He blushes adorably when you pour in some bubble bath, watching intently as the foam starts to rise and letting out an excited hum. 

You undress first, enjoying the way his blush deepens as he studies your nude form, then help him shrug off his own clothes, popping open the buttons of his pajama shirt one by one and smirking as he writhes under your hands. By the time he’s sitting naked before you, the bath is still only half full - you take the extra time to run your hands over his chest and soft belly, tweaking his nipples and dragging your fingers teasingly close to his caged-cock, soaking in his gasps and watching the cage grow tight.

He’s just starting to shift his legs apart and push his hips forward when you notice the bath is ready. You casually push his legs back together, taking a moment to chuckle at his dissatisfied grumbling before gently pulling him to his feet and guiding him to step into the tub. He obediently waits for you to step in behind him and sit down, then sits down himself and leans back into your chest, humming contentedly when he feels you wrap your arms around his belly and press kisses into the back of his neck. 

He sighs and melts into you, closing his eyes and letting his jack slack as you scoop bathwater and bubbles over his gangly form. Some of the water runs over his face when you’re wetting his curly hair and he pouts, turning his head around to try and face you as he lets out a disgruntled whine.

You tangle your fingers through his now-wet hair to soothe him, leaving the other to trace over his chest. “I’m sorry, sweetpea,” you mumble as you massage circles into his scalp, “How about you scoot down a little - the water will be less likely to fall into your face that way.”

He looks up at you with pleading eyes, his pout deepening as he brushes his hands back and forth through the soapy water, “But then my knees won’t be under the water…”

You glance over at his knees, chuckling as you reply, “You’re knees are already poking out, my silly boy.”

“But they’ll be poking out more,” he mumbles, tucking his head down as he tries to conceal his embarrassed blush.

You drop your hand from his hair to lift his chin, making sure he’s looking at you as best as he can before suggesting, “If you scoot down and lay your head in the water, I can wash your hair for you, doesn’t that sound nice?”

He purses his lips as he considers the idea before humming out a little “Mmhm” and sliding forward until his head is in your lap (and his knees are poking out of the water). You smile as his concession, massaging shampoo into his hair as promised - his eyes flutter shut almost immediately and he lets out a contented sigh, thoroughly enjoying the warm bathwater and fingers at his scalp.

Once you’re finished with his hair you pull him a little more upright, then move on to washing the rest of him, dipping a washcloth under the water to wet it and letting it glide over his body - you smirk when you realize it’s the same one he used to masturbate with yesterday morning (thought it’s since been washed). 

You leave his groin for last, pointedly ignoring the area as you smooth the cloth over his belly and upper thighs. When you finally reach it Spencer’s practically a puddle on top of you, letting his limbs lay pliant as you bathe him, barely moving aside from the steady rise and fall of his chest. The fabric catches on the cage when you finally run the washcloth over it and Spencer whines at the feeling of being jostled. You stroke up and down his chest until he quiets, letting his knees fall apart as he relaxes back into the water.

You’re more careful when you continue, using your free hand to brace the cage as you gently drag the cloth over it. His cock starts to swell almost immediately, over-eager from the past few days of denial - Spencer mews and spreads his legs on purpose this time, shifting his hips and pressing himself up into you. You just smooth a hand over his inner thigh and say, “Oh sweetpea, your cage is gonna get uncomfortable if you keep doing that.”

He looks up at you with pleading eyes, a barely audible “Please Mistress…” escaping his lips as he bares himself to you.

You love it when he’s like this - so needy that he begs for you to touch him even when he knows he won’t get the relief his body craves - so you smile down at him and tease him through the gaps in the plastic, his cock as hard as it can be within the confines of the cage. He whimpers at the vibrations when you drag your nail up the plastic - it gives you an idea that you tuck away for later, grinning yourself to the thought.

Once you decide you’ve teased him enough, you trail your hands back up to his neck, giving his nipples a quick pinch along the way and smirking at his little startled yelp. You drag a finger up and down over his Adam’s apple, feeling the almost-sharp bump of his throat. You reach over him to unplug the drain then resettle yourself against the back of the tub as the water swirls away, pressing a kiss into the crown of Spencer’s head and leaving a hand lying gently across his neck.

You tug him to his feet once the water is nearly gone and turn on the shower instead, waiting for him to come back to himself a little bit as you pull the curtain closed and direct him under the stream, letting it wash the residual bubbles away. Once he’s clean, you pull him in for a soft kiss and order, “Go put your collar on and wait on the bed for me while I wash up, okay sweetpea?”

His lips brush yours as he replies, “Yes Miss,” before slipping out of the tub - you can just barely hear him rustling around with a towel, drying himself off before dutifully picking up the discarded clothes and walking back into the bathroom. You can’t help but rush your shower a little - soon enough, you’re following behind him with a robe tucked around your body, padding softly into the bedroom and laying your eyes upon him.

Spencer’s perched on the side of the bed just as you ordered, completely naked aside from his cage and collar. He looks up at you as soon as he hears your footsteps - you stalk over and peer down at him, brush a hand over his cheek and relish in the way he instinctively leans into your palm, a soft little contented noise escaping his lips. 

“You’re being such a good boy, Spencer,” you praise and he soaks it in, his eyes lighting up at the words, “What do _you_ want to do today, sweetpea?”

He blushes and averts his eyes, squirming where he sits - it’s so adorable that you know you’ve made the right decision in letting him choose. You let his embarrassment soak in for a minute before taking mercy and prompting him, saying, “Don’t be embarrassed, baby boy - whatever it is, you know I’ll never make fun of you.”

He glances up at you with his big eyes, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he finally speaks, his voice so soft you almost have to strain to hear it, “I-I want to…to _feel_ you, Mistress.”

It’s not what you were expecting, but it lights a fire in your belly and you know your own eyes are flashing with arousal. You lean down to press a kiss into his jaw, dragging your lips up to his ear and whispering, “Let me make some coffee first,” before turning and walking out of the bedroom, slipping your phone from the nightstand into your robe pocket as you go.

His collar makes a soft _clink!_ as he stands to follow, trailing behind you as if you have him on a leash, almost stumbling over his feet in his excitement. You take your time with the coffee, glancing over your shoulder with a smirk every time he can’t quite hold back his little desperate noises. Once it’s done, you slide a cup over to him - prepared just as sweet as he likes it - and sit down at the kitchen counter, motioning for him to join you with his own coffee. 

You sip your coffee with one hand and trail over his body with the other, fingering his collar and pinching his nipples, tapping your nails along the plastic encasing his forcibly-soft cock. By the time you’ve finished your drink he’s only done with half of his, but he doesn’t seem to care - as soon as you put down your empty cup, he mews out a little “Please Mistress…” and shifts his bare legs further apart.

You decide the washing up can wait for later and lead him over to the couch - he sits before you even have the chance to prompt him, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes as he waits for what you’ve promised. You tell him to wait and slink back to the bedroom to retrieve the key from its hiding place then come back and kneel before him, dragging the key over his inner thighs as he writhes beneath your hands.

He’s a whimpering mess by the time you finally relent, unlocking the cage and gently pulling it off of him - as soon as the plastic is gone his cock starts to swell, the head flushed red from the rush blood flow. He lets out a sigh of relief once his cock reaches its full length, resting hard against his belly as he obediently keeps his hands by his sides. 

You lean forward and lick it from base to tip just to see him squirm, then reach down to feel how much wetness is leaking out of your core - it’s enough that you decide additional lubrication isn’t necessary. You rise to straddle his lap and tease a finger over him, dragging your own wetness over his cock and up his navel. He shudders beneath you, glancing between himself and your face as if he’s unsure which begs his attention the most. 

The robe falls around you both as you rise on your knees and scoot forward, taking his cock in hand and guiding it into position. He whimpers when you let the tip tease at your entrance, his hips twitching as he just barely holds back the desire to buck up into you. You drag yourself back and forth over the head of his cock, smirking when he gasps and throws his head back, asking “Is this what you wanted, my sweet boy? You wanted to feel your Mistress?”

“Y-yes…,” he stutters out between breaths, groaning when you let him push inside just a little before pulling away once again. 

“What was that, baby boy?” you ask again just to tease him, relishing in his needy whines as you continue to deny him.

“Yes Mistress!” he gasps out and you grin, dropping your hips and enveloping his cock in your warmth. His eyes flutter shut and his hands clench and unclench against the couch cushions - he’s trying desperately to be a good boy and keep his hands off, you’re sure. 

You keep still and let him calm down before reaching into your pocket and fishing out your phone from where you stashed it earlier - you idly scroll through your socials and play at ignoring Spencer’s needy little gasps and moans, smirking every time you chuckle at a funny post because of the reaction it elicits from him. 

You shift your hips every once in a while for the dual purpose of both teasing him and keeping him hard. He settles into it eventually, relaxing back into the couch as sub-y contentment leaks into his expression. It’s then that you reach a hand over to stroke through his hair and gently parse out the tangles, pressing a kiss into his forehead every time a happy hum rumbles through his chest. 

You can’t help but to mumble praises, cupping his face and whispering out, “Such a good boy, Spencer. You’re such a perfect, good boy just for your Mistress” and soaking it in when he practically melts at your words.

It re-lights the desire in your belly and you flush with embarrassment when your own needy gasp escapes. Spencer shifts beneath you and lets his hands brush against your thighs, peering up at you through hooded eyes as he asks, “Miss, can I…can I please touch you, Mistress?”

He’s so eager to please that you can’t help but nod. He reaches one of his hands up to his mouth and licks his fingers before tucking it between your two bodies, cupping your hip with the other as he draws circles over your clit. You start to rock against him and he times the movement of his hand with that of your hips, his jaw dropping open as he feels his cock moving inside of you.

Your orgasm builds quickly and your movements grow frantic as you chase it - ever looking to please his Mistress, Spencer dutifully follows with his circles against your clit, his belly tensing as he holds back his own orgasm. You pull him into a open-mouthed kiss as you reach your peak, the rush shuddering through you as you gasp into his mouth and continue to rock against him - he slows the motions of his hand but keeps his finger pressed against you, letting you milk the last dregs of your high as your muscles clench around his cock and he writhes beneath you.

When you come back to yourself, Spencer is whimpering as he tries to hold back his own release, obediently denying himself the chance to cum before his punishment is over. You smile and whisper praises into his jawline, saying “Good boy, you’re such a good boy holding it for me” as you hold yourself still for his sake.

He pulls you into a hug and buries his face in your neck, his breath shuddering against you as he waits for his body to calm down. He leans back onto the couch once it does, letting out a half-frustrated-half-relieved sigh as you run your hands over his cheeks. You stay like that for another couple of minutes before he starts to squirm with discomfort - you pull yourself off of him and peer down at his aching cock, shiny from your wetness and flushed a deep red from the force of his arousal. 

You fetch a damn cloth - the same one from before - from the bathroom and hurry back to him, letting him curl into your side as you run the cloth over his belly and slowly subsiding erection. Once you’re done, you pull him closer and press a kiss into the crown of his head - he hums and settles himself against your shoulder, already sleepy again after the excitement of the morning. 

You nudge him softly before he can fall back asleep, pressing the cage into his hands and reaching up to loosen his collar. He spreads his legs and pulls the cage on himself, glancing expectantly between you and the key as soon as he’s finished. You mumble one last “Good boy” before locking him back in, letting your hands glide over his soft skin as he tucks himself back into your side. 

“Thank you, Mistress,” he says, voice muffled against your robe, before his eyes flutter shut and he drifts off for a mid-morning nap. You smile and pull the afghan over him so he doesn’t get too cold before switching on the television - being mindful to keep the volume on low - and settling in for a lazy weekend morning. 

Seven days to go.


	5. day 4

Spencer wakes you up on Sunday by squirming under the covers, his back brushing up against your front as he lets out little unsettled gasps and whimpers. You tighten your grasp around his middle and press kisses into his neck, taking deep breaths and trying to soothe him with the soft lull of your chest. He calms down almost immediately, reaching his hands up to wrap around yours and scooting back into you until he’s as close as he could possibly be. He tilts his head up and begs for a kiss, pouting adorably when he misses and his lips land on your cheek instead.

You chuckle and let him pout for a minute, kissing the tip of his nose, his forehead, the nape of his neck - pretty much anywhere you can reach except for where he really wants one. His cheeks puff out in playful annoyance until you finally give in, pressing your lips to his as you trace patterns across his chest. He flips himself over in one swift movement, pressing himself flush against you and tangling his legs with yours - you wrap your arms around his back and squeeze a little because you know he likes the pressure, smirking against his lips when you feel the hard plastic shell forcing his cock to stay soft.

Spencer doesn’t seem to notice at all - he just keeps wiggling around, trying to press himself impossibly closer and keening as if being completely curled up in your arms just isn’t enough right now, craving contact with you much more than he ever does with anyone else. You squeeze him tighter in response and whisper praise until he starts to calm back down, hiding his face in the pillows as his breaths steady and letting you rock him softly back and forth under the covers. His distressed whine melts into a contented hum soon enough - you take a moment to just let him breathe with you before running your fingers through his hair and cupping his cheeks until his face reemerges from where he’s hidden it under the covers. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you thumb over his cheeks, furrowing your brow in concern as he averts his eyes and hides his face in your chest. He mumbles something into your pajama shirt, but the words come out so soft and muffled that even you, someone well versed in deciphering _Spencer-speak_ when he’s feeling extra shy like this, can’t quite tell what he said.

You cuddle him against your chest and nudge his chin upwards with a gentle hand, kissing the crown of his head and relaxing a little when he sighs into you. “Spencer, what’s wrong?” you repeat - he shakes his head a little, an embarrassed flush painting his cheeks as he purses his lips and averts his eyes. You soothe circles over his back and thread your fingers through his hair, assuring him, “You don’t have to be embarrassed, sweatpea. You can tell me anything - you know that, don’t you?”

He nods this time, peering up at you with those pretty brown eyes as he worries at his bottom lip and tries to get the words out. You just smile at him and keep stroking his back, letting him take his time to work up the courage, taming down your concern for the sake of making sure he doesn’t feel rushed. “I-I…,” he starts, tears budding in his eyes as he pushes away from you a little, “Y-you were still sleeping when I woke up and I-I dunno…I guess I just wanted you to be awake s-so we could cuddle. But then you actually _did_ wake up, and then I felt bad about waking you up because you were _sleeping_ and I…I-I just -”

“Shhhh…,” you interrupt to stop him from working himself up even more - he gets like this sometimes when he’s feeling extra sub-y, starts feeling guilty about ‘being _too_ _needy_ ,’ as he’s nervously confessed before. 

These moments of doubt used to be a common occurrence, but they rarely happen anymore - at first you worried that it had something to do with you, that you were pushing him too far or not providing enough aftercare or something else equally egregious, but you realized quickly that it really has more to do with his deep-seeded fear of abandonment than anything else. He’s afraid that if he’s ‘too needy,’ you’ll start to find him annoying and walk away. It’s fear and guilt borne of years and years of being forced to fend for himself, of people leaving just when he was starting to feel secure about their place in his life, and all you can really do when he gets like this is keep reassuring him otherwise. Reassuring him that you love him and have no plans to ever leave him, that you love caring for him when he’s feeling needy just as much as he loves being cared for. 

“I never want you to feel bad about waking me up, okay?” you whisper, pulling him tight against you, “I never want you to feel bad about needing _anything at all_ \- you can always come to me if you need me, okay Spencer? Even if it’s two in the morning and you’re ten-thousand miles away.”

He hides his face again and nods against your chest, grabbing at your pajama shirt and trying to make himself smaller. You rub his back and smile when you feel him start to un-tense, letting your breath ghost through his fluffy hair as you ask, “Can you say it for me, sweatpea? Can you tell me that you understand, even if you don’t quite feel it right now?”

He wiggles against you and takes a few deep breaths, his mouth tickling your chest as he opens and closes it a few times before he manages to get the words out, “I-I understand. And I…I _know_ that you don’t actually think I’m too needy and that you wouldn’t just leave me. I _know_ that you love me, but I..I-I just get really worried about it sometimes. A-and I know it’s not logical and that you would never do that, but it…it just happens sometimes and I can’t stop it even though I _know_ that it’s stupid and I should just shut up -”

“How you feel is never stupid” you interrupt, “And I _always_ want you to talk to me about how you feel. _Always_ , okay sweatpea?”

“Okay, (y/n),” he mumbles into your chest, peeking up at you through the soft fabric of your pajama shirt with the beginnings of a smile - it makes you smile too, and you pet over his fluffy hair as he practically melts into you. 

You stay like that for a while, tangled together under the covers and showering him with all the affection he so dearly deserves - it’s only when Spencer’s stomach growls and the both of you start giggling at the sound that you start preparing yourself to get out of bed. Spencer grumbles the whole while, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back when you try to get up, but for all his grumbling he latches onto you and follows like a puppy as soon as you manage to actually get up. He keeps holding on as you make your way around the room, grabbing a change of clothes for each of you and leading him toward the bathroom, and you can’t help but find it absolutely adorable - he pouts every time he trips over your feet, but doesn’t even think about letting go.

He hums contentedly as you rub shampoo through his hair in the shower and as you drag the washcloth up and down his sides, whimpering a little as the soft fabric runs over the exposed parts of his cock. He trails gentle fingers over your body as he patiently waits for you to finish, his touch more curious than erotic as the water washes over your form. 

You sit him down on the rim of the tub once you’re finished, toweling him dry and then letting him sit naked as he waits for you to dress yourself. The doubt from this morning is almost entirely gone by now, and he looks up at you with such love and admiration that it makes you blush - he’s completely vulnerable before you but makes no move to hide himself, instead sitting comfortably and leaving his body on display, caged cock and all. You stalk back over to him once you’re dressed, teasing a finger over his tip through the opening and then letting it trail up the sides, smirking as he gasps and tightens his grip on the rim of the tub.

“Can I -” he gasps, cutting himself off with a blush and a nervous shake of the head, biting his lip as he peers up at you through his eyelashes. 

“What is it, baby boy?” you reply, bending down to his level and thumbing over his cheeks, “What do you need from your Mistress?”

His blush deepens as he looks away , shaking his head and squirming under your gaze. “I -” he starts before cutting himself off a second time, whining at his own inability to get the words out and kicking his heels back against the tub in frustration.

“Hey, none of that,” you chastise softly, trailing your hands down his legs until you reach his sore heels, massaging them gently as you continue, “I don’t know what’s wrong, sweetheart - do you think you can tell me, or do want me to try and guess?”

He tucks his chin to his chest and squirms a little more, eventually glancing back down at you and mumbling, “Can you, um…can you please try and guess?”

“Of course baby, that’s why I asked,” you reply, rubbing up and down his legs with just the right amount of pressure, “Okay, let me think…”

“Are you feeling overwhelmed?” you ask, “Do you need the cage off?”

His eyes snap over to you and he immediately starts shaking his head, flinging water everywhere as he starts to draw his thighs together, hunching forward a little as if to make sure you won’t uncage him. “It’s alright,” you reassure him, “I won’t take it off if you don’t want me to. I won’t take it off, okay sweatpea?”

He nods and draws his hands up to his belly, tangling them together and glancing between them and you. His cheeks puff out as he waits for you to guess again, leaning forward into you so much that he almost loses his balance on the rim of the tub. You chuckle a little and steady him, running your hands up and down his sides and soaking in the way he sighs under your palms. He doesn’t really seem anxious at all, just squirmy and embarrassed and -

“Oh - are you worried that I’ll laugh at you? Is that what you’re worried about?” you ask - you hope you’re wrong, but also know that he sometimes feels insecure and starts to doubt himself (this morning has made that abundantly clear - it pains you that he still feels this way sometimes even after you’ve been together for so long, but you also know that it takes time to heal and that he’s doing much _much_ better than he was when you first started your relationship)

He fidgets a little before finally nodding, keeping his eyes locked on his hands as he twists them together in his lap. You reach up to take his hands in yours, thumbing over the backs of his hands until he shyly looks up at you. “Whatever it is, I promise I won’t laugh, okay sweatpea? I _promise_.”

Spencer chews on his lip for a while before turning his palms over and tanging his fingers with yours, sucking in a few deep breaths before mumbling, “I…I wanna put my collar on.”

You furrow your brow in confusion - he wears his collar all the time, and while it’s uncommon for him to ask for it, it’s certainly not something that he’d usually be embarrassed about. “Sweetie, you know you can put your collar on whenever you want, what’s got you so embarrassed this time?”

And then he starts squirming again, curling in on himself a little and starting to bounce his legs. You rise and sit beside him on the rim of the bathtub, pulling him into a hug and giving him a tight squeeze as he sinks into you and fidgets with the hem of your shirt. “I…,” he starts, cutting himself off with a shaky inhale before taking a deep breath to steady himself, “I want to wear my collar…outside. My regular one, not my day collar. I-I want people to see that you’re my mistress and that I belong to you.”

That’s…not what you were expecting at all - he rarely even wears his day collar, so it’s a pretty big jump for him to want to wear his regular one outside. You’re honestly a little worried about where this is coming from all of the sudden, but he’s so adorably shy when he asks you and it’s so hard to deny him anything he asks for. “Spencer, are you sure?” you ask, using his name to make sure he knows you’re being serious, “I just want to make sure you’re asking for this because you want to, not because you think you have something to prove, alright?”

He immediately shakes his head into your chest, his still-damp hair ticking your chin as he leans in and whispers, “I’m sure, Mistress. I want to, I _promise_ I want to.”

“Alright,” you reply, “We can go out after breakfast. Go get dressed for me, sweatpea.”

He immediately scrambles for his clothes, pulling them on and then looking at you expectantly like an eager puppy, practically bouncing on his heels with excitement now that he’s finally conveyed his desires. You lead him back out to the bedroom and delicately lift his collar from the dresser, tilting it back and forth and letting the charm glint in the soft morning light streaming in through the half-open curtains. Spencer’s pupils are blown wide as he watches it, gasping as you step over to him and circle a finger over his Adam’s apple, smirking a little as you feel him swallow with nervous anticipation. 

You lean in for a kiss but pull away at the last second, letting him chase you with his mouth, too enamored with you to even have the presence of mind to pout. When you finally let his mouth meet yours, you fasten the collar around his neck in one swift motion, soaking in the way he gasps and whimpers against your lips as he continues to kiss you. You reach down and palm over the cage through his pants, grinning at his pleased hum and what a far cry they are from the bratty complaints he’d been making only a few days ago. 

And then his stomach growls a second time and the both of you start to giggle - playtime will have to wait until after breakfast.

…

You’re getting ready to go when you notice Spencer fidgeting with his collar, running his fingertips over it with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. You go to him immediately, smoothing your hands over his arms and saying, “It’s okay if you changed your mind, you know. We can stay in, or you can switch to your day collar - you can take it off completely if you want to -”

“No!” he interrupts, “I want to wear it - I _really_ do! I just…w-we’ve never done this before and I’m…I’m nervous.”

“Awe, of course you are, baby boy,” you reply, “Here - how about you put a scarf on, that way you can wear your collar but no one will be able to see it, does that sound okay to you?”

He perks up immediately, nodding his fluffy head and bouncing on his toes. You smile and fetch his favorite purple scarf from the bedroom - he lights up even more as soon as he sees it, practically running over to you and tucking it around his neck with practiced ease. He runs his hands over it, making sure his leather collar is completely concealed, before pulling you into a hug and burying his face in your shoulder. You chuckle and press a kiss to the crown of his head, circling your palm over his back and rearranging the tail of his scarf. 

“You ready now?” you ask him - his hair tickles your cheeks when he nods, and it’s positively adorable. 

He stays practically glued to your side as you lead him out the door, gripping your hand with his and tripping over his feet a little. He almost hides behind you at first, nervous about passers-by somehow knowing about what he’s hiding under his scarf, but you squeeze his hand and reassure him all the way to the Metro. It’s crowded enough that it’s easier to stand than try to find seats since you’re only traveling a few stops - you trail your fingers along his scarf the whole time and relish in his adorable blush as he fidgets next to you.

You take him shopping for knick-knacks because you know it’s one of his favorite pastimes and you want this to be a good experience for him. He absolutely loves to browse through assorted toys and figurines and funny books, spouting off obscure knowledge all the while - you just let him ramble and get comfortable for a while, searching through the shelves for things he thinks you’ll like and grinning each time you smile. 

You’re on your third shop when you decide to make him squirm a little - you start brushing your hands over the cloth hiding his neck, and grinning when he gasps and glances over at you. “Don’t mind me,” you say as you dip your fingers beneath his scarf and slide your fingertips over the top rim of his collar, “You can keep looking.”

He sucks in a breath as he pupils dilate, a pretty blush painting his face as he just stands there and stares at you. You feel him swallow against your hand as you drag it across his neck and satisfaction builds in your belly. When he still doesn’t move after almost a full minute, you cock your head towards the assortment of trinkets he was so enraptured with just minutes ago and say, “Are you gonna keep looking, sweatpea, or should we go home?”

Spencer swallows once more, letting out a shaky exhale before turning back and sorting through the little toys - you keep playing with his collar, pulling his scarf down just barely and soaking in the way he squirms under your fingers. You lean in a blow onto his neck and watch the hairs rise at the puff of cool air. He whimpers at the sensation and then gasps when he realizes how loud he was, looking around the shop and only un-tensing one he realizes there’s no one else in earshot. 

“What’s the matter, baby boy?” you whisper, “I thought you wanted everyone to know _exactly_ who you belong to.”

“Mistress…,” he exhales almost involuntarily - you pull at his scarf a little more and he gasps, glancing around to see if anyone noticed but not pulling away from you.

“Who do you belong to, Spencer?” you growl, tugging his scarf down in the front and grinning when the charm catches the light, the words _(y/n)’s little brat_ nearly on display for anyone who chances a look in his direction.

“You,” he replies instantly, “I belong to you!”

He raises his voice a little too loud in his excitement and a lady a few aisles down lifts her head, making eye contact with you as you play with Spencer’s collar, hands still just barely hidden his scarf. You smile at the woman and she smiles back, turning back to look through shelves of postcards, none the wiser to what’s going on right in front of her. You peer up at Spencer to find him practically panting with exhilaration, and toy with his collar for a second more before releasing him, turning back to the rows of tchotchkes as if nothing happened.

“Mistress…,” he mumbles, reaching up to fix his scarf almost involuntarily.

You pick up a trinket in response - it’s a little figurine of a Dalmatian - and turn it over in your hands. “I think I’ll buy this one,” you reply.

He just stands there for a minute, his breaths slowly regaining their steadiness as he soaks in the moment, his brain short-circuiting a little from all the excitement. Eventually, he turns back to the rows of toys and resumes looking over them, spouting off a few facts as he tries to choose. You wrap an arm around his waist and brush your hand up and down, leaning your head on his shoulder and smiling when he gives a little pleased hum in response.

You glance around to make sure no one’s looking before letting your lips trail over his ear and whispering, “Good boy,” and relishing in the way he shudders beneath you.

…

You get back home sometime in the afternoon and Spencer is practically a puddle next to you - you guide him over to the couch and bundle him under his favorite blanket, pressing a glass of water to his lips and helping him drink as he keeps his own hands buried under the covers. You wrap your arms around him and let him melt into your side, delicately brushing his hair out of his face as he looks up at you through his lashes. 

He leans his face into yours and pouts until you give him a kiss, then closes his eyes and settles onto your shoulder. You press your lips to his forehead and whisper, “You’re _mine_ , Spencer. My sweet, perfect _good boy_ ,” into his skin, smiling at his happy hum and pulling him impossibly closer to you. 

Six days left.


End file.
